I've said it before: I hate disciplining my kids. (Who doesn't, really?) I just want to look the other way. Or hug them. Discipline is so hard. It takes so much, well, discipline.
Sure, there's the odd scenario with Fruit Bat or Kitty Cat when I am so irate, so overwrought, that I relish, just for a moment, the idea of yanking them by their ears to the back of the woodshed. But, alas, we do not have a woodshed and I haven't, as of yet, towed them anywhere by their soft, small lobes.
More likely, something happens like yesterday, when we were leaving a large, stimulating, frosting-fueled birthday party and Fruit Bat, because I was trying to convince him that urinating after four hours of not urinating and before a 40-minute drive home would be sensible, pushed me.
Clearly he shouldn't have done it. It was mean and disrespectful. Totally wrong. I could have fallen to the tiled bathroom floor, I could've been hurt.
But he was tired. He felt somehow out-of-control of his own little destiny.
My thought process went something like this:
He shoved me? He SHOVED me! What do I do? How should I punish? What to take away? Yellow Balloon? Yes, yellow balloon. Screaming. Him or me? Him. Shut up. SHUT UP. What do I do with balloon? Okay, first flush toilet. Take balloon back to party room. Leave it there. He's grabbing it. Wrench it from his hand. I hate doing that. Carry it to the Highlander, kids in tow. Where's Kitty Cat? Just behind me. Herd her forward.
Fruit Bat's still screaming. God, every vessel in my brain is collapsing in on itself. Stuff balloon up in front seat with me.
His shriek has changed pitch. Now more of a whine. New issue. What the hell's wrong this time? His goody bag doesn't have a twistie keeping it closed and Kitty Cat's does? What? WHAT? His goody bag DOESN'T HAVE A TWISTIE? Yeah, well, my sock has a hole and my heart is palpitating wildly. Who gives a shit?
Long drive home. Will he make that awful noise the whole way? Kitty Cat's pink balloon drifts forward, attaches itself to my hair. Whack it backward. There it is again. Whack it backward.
Feel sorry for Fruit Bat. It's been a big day for him. He hurt his ankle twice. Badly. Required ice. Should I give him balloon back? No. NO. Don't waffle.
Should I let balloon go out the car window? Bad for environment. Sea creature might eat it and die. Should I teach Fruit Bat a lesson and make a point of popping it when we get home? Too cruel.
Our driveway. Finally. "J.! They're all yours!" Glad this made him laugh. Here comes Fruit Bat in from the garage still going on about the twistie and the balloon. Must collapse. First, okay, snip hole in balloon when Fruit Bat's not looking and stuff whole thing into trash can. He'll forget about it.
Oof, couch is soft. Feels good. Can barely hear kids from wherever it is J. took them. Don't even care. They can watch TV until bedtime. Until tomorrow night's bedtime. Don't even care.
Want cup of tea. Tea too far away. Will I ever feel refreshed enough to care properly for kids again? Yes, have experienced this level of saturation before and always come out of it. Eventually. Want a nap. Want my laptop. Want alone time with J. How many days has it been since J. and I went on date? Since November 3rd. What is that? Calculating... 154 days since last official date. Wonder if J. would be offended if I mentioned this on blog. Maybe I should find a counter widget for sidebar. Funny or just pathetic?
Perfect analogy for my life. Funny or just pathetic?
Wait, is that Fruit Bat whining again about the freaking wretched balloon?